


Paper Thin

by onetruealpha



Series: All the King's Horses [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Events to Echo House, Awesome Melissa, Hurt Stiles, Melissa McCall needs an award for best mom of the year, Mentions of Suicide, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Post Nogitsune, Protective Melissa McCall, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Scott, Scott is a Good Friend, help what have I done, otherwise canon compliant, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetruealpha/pseuds/onetruealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Melissa finds a distressed Scott, she seeks out the cause and gets some unexpected answers she isn't entirely prepared to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Thin

She finds her son sitting at the kitchen table. 

It’s far from the first time she’s found him sitting there, silent and alone, staring at nothing in particular with a forlorn look on his face. Recently she seems to find him there a lot. She hates that at age seventeen, he isn’t out having fun with his friends, that he isn’t enjoying things the way a kid should, because her son is too burdened by problems that in a world that was fair, would not exist. 

But this is the world they live in. Things like werewolves and nogitsunes and children who die too young, their lives taken from them in horrible ways -- that is their reality. That is her son’s reality. And so it is hers, as well. 

Melissa moves and sits down at the table across from him, reaching out and taking one of his hands in her own. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

She watches him hesitate and look down at the tabletop, eyes troubled. 

“Stiles,” he whispers. 

Her chest tightens and she wishes she was surprised. She’s seen less and less of Stiles around their house lately, and she knows that John is concerned that Stiles is isolating himself in their house too much. She’s concerned, too. 

“Is he talking about what happened?” 

Scott winces. “Not a lot.” 

Melissa sighs softly, wondering if something like a supernatural guidance counselor or therapist exists. Because considering everything, Stiles _needs_ to talk about what he’s been through the same way her son needs to. And none of these kids are good about opening up about the things they’re dealing with, with their parents. Lydia’s parents don’t even _know_ what she’s been through. 

“All you can do is be there for him. And I know you have been,” she says gently. 

“Mom, it’s not just...it’s not just the stuff with the nogitsune.” His voice is so quiet now and he doesn’t look at her. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she leans forward a little. “What is it, then?” 

Scott hesitates. “I think...I think something bad happened to him while he was in Eichen House,” he admits in a whisper. 

Melissa pauses. “When you say something bad…” 

“Something _really_ bad.” She holds her breath as she realizes her son sounds like he’s about to cry. 

“Sweetheart, what makes you say that?” It isn’t that she doubts him, because she doesn’t. But she’s a nurse. She needs to know the facts before she can decide how to handle this situation. 

Scott’s silent for a long moment. “The other night when we went with Lydia to visit Meredith there...there was this man. An orderly. And I just -- there’s something about the way that he talked to Stiles when he thought they were alone. Stiles was terrified, Mom. And then yesterday during lacrosse practice.” He swallows and finally looks up at her. “He was tackled by one of the guys on the team. And he freaked out. He had a panic attack and he passed out and when he woke up there was this look on his face. And he said, ‘I couldn’t make them stop.’” 

Melissa feels something in her stomach tighten. “Did he say what he was talking about?” 

“He wouldn’t talk about it. He said it didn’t matter. And then he got really pissed at me when I tried to press him about what he meant, and he started talking about all the things that he did while he was possessed. He blames himself for all of it.” 

She sighs softly, looking down and then closing her eyes. Of course Stiles blames himself for everything that happened. He always has. For a kid as active and prone to mischief as Stiles has always been, she knows he’s always had a tendency to blame himself when things go wrong. Like the time that Stiles and Scott had been playing lacrosse inside the house and Scott had gotten hurt and needed stitches. She’d found Stiles sitting on the back doorstep later that night, arms wrapped around his knees and his head down while he cried. The boys had been twelve. 

But the new information that Scott has brought up is unexpected. Horrifying. 

“I don’t know what to do, Mom,” he whispers, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly, and she wonders about when was the last time he slept. 

Melissa rises to her feet and moves over to stand beside his chair, wrapping her arms around him. She presses a kiss to the top of his head when he leans into her, and she rubs his back the way she used to when he was younger and upset. She doubts that it’s as effective as it might have once been, but she’s his mother and it’s her duty to try and comfort him. 

Just as it’s her duty to make her way to the Stilinski household that afternoon when Scott heads in for his shift at Deaton’s clinic.

She waits patiently at the door, hoping that Stiles is actually there. She maybe should have called ahead, but she didn’t want to chance that he’d try avoiding her. And knowing him the way she did, he just might have. She isn’t prepared for the sight that greets her when the door opens. Stiles is standing there, as pale as he was right after the possession, and the circles under his eyes almost as dark and profound. Even through his layers of clothes, she can tell that he has lost more weight rather than gaining it back, and Stiles has never had weight he could afford to lose to begin with. 

It is, however, his eyes that trouble her the most. Stiles’ honey colored eyes have always been full of life, of warmth and humor. When he was possessed, they were full of cruelty, amusement at people’s pain. Now they just look empty. Like something inside of him is just missing completely. 

Stiles Stilinski is not her son, but she’s felt like he is on many occasions, because she is the only mother figure left in his life. Because he grew up like a brother to her own son, because despite his penchant for being a smart ass and getting into more trouble than any child should ever be able to, he is, at heart, a good kid. A sweet child who has lost so much in his short life. 

Melissa hurts for him. 

And it hurts when he opens the door and she sees the guilt that immediately flickers over his face, the way he drops his gaze and looks at the floor like he’s done something so inherently wrong to her personally that he can’t bear to look at her. 

“Hi, Sweetheart,” she greets quietly. 

“Hey. My uh -- my dad’s at work,” he tells her, still not looking at her and the urge to reach out and wind her arms around him in a hug similar to the one she’d pulled Scott into that morning is strong, but she resists for now. 

“Well. It’s a good thing I’m not here to see your dad then,” she says, her voice light as he holds the door open and steps to the side to let her in. 

Stiles looks confused but she offers him a gentle smile before making her way to the sofa and taking a seat. “Is everything okay? Is Scott okay?” He sounds uncertain, worried. 

“Everything’s fine. Scott’s at work,” she tells him, patting the seat beside her to indicate for him to take a seat, too. 

He hesitates. Like he’s afraid of getting too close. 

“Stiles. Come sit down,” she tells him firmly, voice quiet. 

He rubs the back of his neck, then slides his hands into the pockets of the gray hoodie he’s wearing before slinking over to the couch and sitting down beside her. She thinks the sweatshirt might be one of Scott’s, but she long ago lost track of whose clothes were whose when it came to Scott and Stiles. They were forever trading clothes and while she thinks they might have grown out of it, she’s not sure. She’s not sure about a lot of things these days, really. 

She watches him suppress a shiver beside her as she reaches up, gently smoothing some hair back and out of his eyes the way she used to when _he_ was a child, long before he’d ever gotten a buzz cut that she’s glad he finally let grow back out. “How are you doing, Sweetheart?” Melissa can tell that she’s about to receive the same standard answer that everyone gets when they ask Stiles that question, the answer that he long ago began responding with after his mom died. She shakes her head. “And I mean how are you _really_ feeling, Stiles?” 

Stiles draws in a breath and she can tell that he’s struggling very hard not to reveal how he’s feeling even if it’s clear it’s nothing _good_ that he’s feeling. “Sorry, mostly,” he admits after a long moment. “And before you tell me that I have nothing to be sorry for, yes, I do. I have a lot to be sorry for.” 

Melissa purses her lips. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re sorry about?” 

He eyes her with something akin to wariness, like he’s not sure if she’s trying to play some kind of trick on him. “Do you have all afternoon?” 

She smiles at the wryness of his tone, because it’s a sign -- small but still there -- that the Stiles she knows and loves is still there. That maybe even though the bandages he’d been wrapped up in when he was separated from the nogitsune had come off physically, they’d yet to come off emotionally. “I do, in fact,” she informs him.

Stiles looks down at that, looking pained and she rests a hand on his back. “I did all of these terrible things. I said and did terrible things to everyone that I love. People died because of me. _Allison_ died because of me. And now Scott’s never --” His voice breaks and he shuts his eyes. “They’re not going to get their second chance now. He still loves her.” 

Melissa holds her breath and resists the urge to start telling him that nothing that happened was his fault. 

“Aiden’s dead too. I didn’t like the guy. For a lot of reasons. But I didn’t want him to die either. And I didn’t want to be the reason why he’s dead.” He rises to his feet and begins pacing as she watches. “All those people at the hospital that died. All of those people you knew. All the deputies at the department. Melissa, I twisted a _sword_ in Scott’s stomach. I could have killed him. That’s all on _me_ and I don’t -- I can’t figure out how I’m supposed to live with this. I’m trying to be okay. I swear to god I am, because I know I’m not -- I’m not the one who’s lost their first love or their best friend or their boyfriend and I don’t understand why any of them can even look at my face and not _hate_ me because all I can see when I look in the mirror is this monster.” 

Melissa’s heart breaks for him, but still she remains silent. 

“I knew. I _knew_ something was wrong with me. I knew it when I found that stupid key to the chemistry lab. I was missing bits of time, I wasn’t -- I didn’t feel right and I should have stopped it. I should have figured it out sooner. I should’ve --” 

She feels sick with the next words that he utters, because it’s almost too much for her to bear hearing. 

“I should’ve stopped myself when I had the chance. I should have,” he whispers, raking a hand through his hair as he paces. “God I wish I’d have stopped myself when I could have. None of this would have happened. None of it. I should have just killed myself when I had the chance.” His voice breaks.

“Sweetheart, _no._ ” Melissa rises to her feet now and she reaches out for him but he tries to push her away. She doesn’t let him. Stiles might be taller her than she is, but she’s more determined right now to pull him close than he is to get away. She hugs him tightly. “That wouldn’t have been okay either. That’s not the answer. That’s _never_ the answer.” 

“But Allison and Aiden, all your friends, all my dad’s friends --” He chokes out. 

“You don’t know that killing yourself wouldn’t have just meant freeing the nogitsune from your body and going after someone else. You don’t know what might have happened. You didn’t have any way of knowing what was _going_ to happen.” She hugs him tightly and he presses his face into her shoulder as he sobs and she strokes his hair. 

“I know that this is terrible,” she whispers. “I know you feel horribly about all of it. But I can’t imagine Scott getting through losing you. Or your father. Or _me._ ” She pulls away to look at him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “We all love you very much and I’m _so_ glad that you’re here, Stiles. I’m so glad that you survived this.” Her eyes sparkle with tears. “We all need you. And I know that it doesn’t seem like it right now, but there’s a _reason_ that you pulled through.” 

Stiles drops his gaze, and she pulls him back into her arms and then guides him to the sofa, where she sits down and he lays his head on her shoulder as she rubs his arm. “I’m so sorry for all those things I said to you. I’m _so_ sorry that I scared you.” 

Melissa turns her head and kisses his forehead. “Forgiven,” she says instantly. 

“Just like that?” he whispers. “Why?” 

“Because I love you and I know you, and I know you didn’t mean to do any of those things,” Melissa tells him gently. 

Stiles sniffs and closes his eyes, nodding silently in acceptance of her words. She’s quiet for a few moments before she shifts gears. 

“Now we need to make sure you start taking better care of yourself.” Her voice is more firm now as she shifts from _mom_ to _nurse_. “That means you _have_ to start eating more, and you have to make sure you’re getting a good night’s rest every single night.” 

“But --” 

“There are no buts here, Stiles,” she informs him. “I am not going to stand by and watch you waste away. It just isn’t going to happen. If I have to come over here three times a day every day to make sure you eat a decent amount of _healthy_ food, don’t think I won’t do it. I have plenty of paid leave time I can take from work.” There’s no hint of kidding in her voice and she turns her head to look at him. She almost smiles at the wary uncertainty she sees on his face. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he whispers, closing his eyes after a moment. 

“It’s because your body’s accustomed to not eating much these days. Your appetite will come back when you start eating regularly again.” She cards her fingers through his hair. “We’ll start off with small, frequent meals instead of the three big ones.” She’s already making plans to cook meals and dish them out into small portion sizes that he can freeze and eat later. 

He’s silent for a long time. And then, “I’m sorry about Isaac.” 

Melissa draws in a breath and leans her head against his. “He’ll come back when he’s ready.” She knows he’s relatively safe between his werewolf abilities and Chris Argent’s hunting prowess. She hopes the time away will help both of them begin to heal. She can’t do anything for either of them when they’re in France, but she can sure as hell focus on the people in Beacon Hills who need help with healing. 

“Stiles,” she says finally, voice quiet. 

“Yeah?” He sounds sleepy, drained. 

“I have to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me because it’s very important. Can you do that?” 

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

Melissa purses her lips and tightens her arms around him just a fraction. “I need to know what happened to you at Eichen House,” she tells him softly. “Because if someone hurt you there, they might be hurting other people, too. And I can make that stop.” 

She feels him tense in her embrace but she doesn’t let him go. “Please don’t,” he whispers. “Please.” 

She knows that Scott is right and god she wishes he wasn’t. She’s known this boy for a very long time; she knows when he’s telling the truth and when he’s lying; she knows when he’s pretending that he’s okay when he’s really not. “You don’t have to give me details unless you want to talk about it, Stiles.” She smooths the hair out of his eyes, feels him shudder against her. “I just need to know who hurt you.” 

“You can’t,” he says urgently, trying to pull away from her. “You _can’t_. They know about Scott and Lydia.” 

Melissa cupped his face in her hands, her dark eyes boring into his. “Listen to me,” she says firmly. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt Scott or Lydia. I promise you. Have I _ever_ broken a promise to you, Stiles?” 

A tear trickles down his cheek. “No.” 

She feels her chest tighten at the broken expression on his face. “I just need names.” 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and she watches as he struggles to answer. “Brunski,” he whispers, voice cracking. 

Melissa isn’t prepared for what he says next. 

“Brunski and Malia Tate.”


End file.
